


'Till Death

by EvilMuffins



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Attempted choking, Forced Marriage, Kissing, M/M, Magically Bonded, Sharing a Bed, mentioned MakoHaru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-16 07:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12338346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: Humans weren’t meant to be together. Romantic love was nothing more than a form of leverage, and once exploited, would terminate itself. Even the pageantry of marriage was nothing more than an elaborate pretend game in the end, one meant for foolish adults who had never had enough of playing house.





	'Till Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labocat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/gifts).



> This takes place sometime after Akechi joins the party, but before everything goes down in November.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Akechi was acutely aware of the fact that, for once, his costume was not the one to stand out in a palace. Floor, ceiling, walls- the illusion of vastness created by the stark white of it all was entirely claustrophobic. Harsh and clinical, it put Akechi uncomfortably in mind of hospital hallways as he walked steps behind Akira, the long coat he wore as Joker out of place there, a crow caught in up a snowstorm.

He hadn’t noticed the flowers until Yusuke pointed them out, or rather Haru had. Soft and pink, spilling from the tissue paper pulling them into a bouquet, Yusuke had silently pulled aside to sketch them. It was Haru who had commented on them. Akechi had never much cared for flowers himself. Rather than disliking them, it was simply that they held no meaning for him. Bothersome to care for, they gave nothing in return. Something that skated by on looks alone, relying solely on the kindness of others to live…what need anyone could have for the things, Akechi would never know.

As they continued on throughout the halls, so did the bouquets, tossed aside with careless abandon across the floor.

“Wedding bouquets,” Haru noted quietly.

The palace was a wedding chapel, the group confirmed upon continuing farther in, as wooden pews began to sprout haphazard from the walls and ceiling, all situated so as to be impossible for any guest to sit upon. Not that Akechi would have liked to. Only days before the current mission Akechi had taken his first footsteps into a church, following behind Akira as always. The pews, much like the bench in the confessional, had been ridged and unforgiving. Was the point to perhaps allow any wedding guests to share in the pain that the couple would no doubt soon feel?

Humans weren’t meant to be together. Romantic love was nothing more than a form of leverage, and once exploited, would terminate itself. Even the pageantry of marriage was nothing more than an elaborate pretend game in the end, one meant for foolish adults who had never had enough of playing house.

He had told the priest that he harbored feelings for a man.

God would forgive him, came the reply through the grate. He would still find love in the eyes of the Lord.

It hadn’t been a lie, omitting the exact manner of feelings he held. One shouldn’t lie in church, after all.

After emerging from the booth, Akechi had felt a change in Robin Hood, followed by a vague jealously emanating from Loki.

Akira had seemed pleased with the result, at the very least.

Akechi had had so few things to call his own as a child, and now this boy standing before him, smile speaking the praise through his silence, even held control over his most inner self.

The newest Phantom Thief found himself snapped back to the present as young women in dresses as pink as the flowers melted away into their true forms, masks torn away but Joker's gloved hands. Waves of blushing bridesmaids swarmed them, however no bride or groom where in sight.

“Should we assumed that the palace ruler will be the groom, then?” Yusuke suggested as they regrouped in the safe room.

“It’s entirely possible,” Makoto replied, not looking up as she tended to a wound on Haru’s arm. She had been the one who had suggested the password for the palace in the first place, one belonging to a politician who apparently saw himself as married to the country.

“I’m fine, Queen,” Haru smiled warmly, rolling her sleeve back down before patting Makoto’s hand.

Feeling his jaw begin to tighten, Akechi averted his eyes, finding that they fell on Akira instead as he pushed his mask up onto into his tousled hair in order rub at the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping lips much the same color as the petals littering the halls. Even after hours of fighting, Akira would not have looked out of place beside Akechi on any given morning variety show. His entire appearance was effortless, unlike Akechi’s time spent slaving in front of the mirror each morning. Often times, he was left with no time for breakfast, which was just as well.

The more time he spent observing the other boy, the more he wished that their powers might allow them to steal more than just hearts. What he wanted for himself was Akira’s entire being, he decided. If only he could snatch it off of that delicate face like a mask, cloaking himself in the warmth of a caring home and devoted teammates. Even if it would all fall apart soon enough.

“Leader, are you feeling alright?” Akechi asked mildly.

Dark lashes fluttered open. “Yeah. I think we can keep going to the end today…as long as everyone else is up for it.”

Everyone gathered voiced their accent, sycophants to the last.

 _Good._ Akechi wanted to get this over with.

 

* * *

 

“Looks like we found the alter,” Akechi commented, setting foot onto the sprawling carpet leading up to it, a red gash spilling down the steps leading up to the empty platform laid before them, gauzy canopy draped above it, the ends of it pinned to thin air, rather than the solid wall directly behind it.

“I’m not getting a reading on any treasure just yet,” Futaba informed them, tapping away at the screen that her persona projected for her as the others began to search the space for an opening.

“So there must be a way past here,” Akira said, joining Akechi on the steps while avoiding more discarded bouquets, roses this time, petals bleeding into the carpet. “Probably a crawlspace or something.”

Akechi continued upward, only to pause just under the canopy. “Do you hear that?”

At the sound of a soft rustling sound snaking toward them, Akechi jutted his sword arm in front of Akira, a warning for him not to come any closer.

 _It would all be a waste if he were to die now, wouldn’t it?_ The thought darted across Akechi’s mind at the same time Ann cried out.

“Joker, the roses!”

Piercing pain coursed throughout Akechi’s limbs and torso as the thorns dug in all around him, his sword falling to the ground with a dull thud like the toy it was, glowing blade extinguished.

Directly beside him, Akira let out a shout as the snaking tendrils ensnared him as well.

The bouquets had been a trap, Akechi realised, as he strained against the vines that had outgrown the trappings of paper and ribbon, gradually lifting him into the air.

Craning his head wildly, he could see that further down the steps, both Haru and Makoto had met with the same fate in their haste to rescue them- _rescue Joker_ , Akechi corrected himself.

Lower still, more vines had shot up, creating a wall so thick that the rest of the group could not pass, no matter how Yusuke hacked away with his blade.

Realisation dawned on Akechi then- Two and two, a boy and a girl, matched sets. Of course some old man would think along such lines. This all had to be the palace ruler’s doing, of course.

However the girls were brought no closer. Instead, Akira was forced nearer as they hovered above the ground, until Akechi had to turn his cheek in order to keep the beak of his mask from gouging his teammate.

“Who’s doing this? Show yourself!” Akira’s shout rang in Akechi’s ear.

“ _’Till death do you part…”_ A voice boomed, followed by a hollow cackling, although the shadow it belonged to remained unseen.

The vine snaked around the back of Akechi’s head now, thorns grazing his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood as his mask was knocked aside, his face forced nearer to that of Akira. Although Akechi strained to keep his face turned away, he could see out of the corner of his eye that Akira’s expression was one that Akechi had seen before many times around the TV studio- the nonplussed look of a man paid to kiss on television.

How he didn’t feel disgust at his lips touching those belonging to someone like Akechi, he had no idea. He wanted Akira to hate it, to be repulsed, to fight from being made to touch him with all that he had.

The kiss could hardly be called as such, their lips only barely brushing together, before the vines retracted, dropping the thieves roughly to the ground below.

Akechi lay dazed for a moment, staring up the glistening canopy as he heard a hiss issuing from Akira, one that had followed shortly after a sickening snap. The sounds of multiple pairs of boots came next, before Akechi finally pulled himself into a seated position. He knew they hadn’t come for him.

“We should retreat for now,” urged Morgana as Akira remained on the ground, rubbing at the ankle he had landed on, as Ann pulled off her mask in order to summon Carmen for healing.

“Haru and Makoto?” Akira asked, craning his neck to look for them.

“They’re fine,” Futaba said.

After taking a moment to recover, the group took their leave for the real world.

 

* * *

 

Akechi didn’t relish the thought of visiting the hospital. There was always the back alley doctor he had heard Akira mention in passing once or twice during strategy meetings, but he trusted someone like that even less. The Phantom Thieves only had need of such services due to their underhanded nature.

Still, if the pain got any worse, he thought, arms clenched around his middle as he shivered on his couch, unable to drag himself to bed, he would have to call someone. The likeliest bet would be Sae, he thought vaguely, gasping as another wave of agony seared through him.

Hand quaking, Akechi reached to pull out his phone, only to let it drop uselessly from his hand to the floor. He couldn’t rely on the prosecutor for help, he realised. He couldn’t have her see him curled up in pain like this, a helpless child. She would never fully see him as a capable adult again, if she ever had to begin with.

Pulling the throw blanket off the top of the couch down onto himself, Akechi meandered in and out of sleep for the remainder of the night.

 

* * *

 

Dragging himself out of the sleep he had stumbled into only an hour or so earlier, Akechi realised that the chime attempting to rouse him was not made by his alarm, but rather his phone, although it took a moment of fighting for wakefulness for him to remember where the device had landed the night before. Before becoming a member of the Phantom Thieves, Akechi had typically kept the phone on vibrate, however these days he couldn’t afford to a miss a message.

A yelp escaped him as he reached down to retrieve it. The pain hadn’t dissipated during the night as he had hoped. At least it was a Sunday, freeing him from school.

The text was from Akira alone, rather than being a part of the standard group chat. That alone was enough to push Akechi’s current affliction to the back of his mind for a moment, as he couldn’t ever recall the leader of the Phantom Thieves bothering to message him privately until then.

‘ _Are you doing alright after yesterday’s palace?’_

The fog clouding Akechi’s brain almost allowed him to believe that Akira truly felt some sliver of concern for him, but no amount of pain could keep him from knowing that there must be some other reason for this show of performative consideration.

‘Y _ou too?’_

 

* * *

The knock at his door wouldn’t have been audible at all, save for the fact that Akechi typically kept his apartment silent. His own thoughts were resounding enough without anything else compounding his own personal cacophony.

Forcing his body into a standing position, while taking a moment to chance a stretch, Akechi found to his surprise that the pain had began to quell. By the time he had crossed the room to reach the door, it had all but subsided.

“Welcome,” Akechi greeted, stepping aside to let Akira in. Whatever pain he might’ve had seemed to have faded as well upon his arrival. _Now wasn’t that something?_

“Hey,” he replied simply, taking off his shoes.

“What, no ‘Honey, I’m home’ this time? We’re married now, after all.” Akechi’s intended tone of mock offense fell flat as he watched Akira pull off one shoe, and then the other, lining them up neatly beside Akechi’s own.

Akechi couldn’t recall the last time anyone other than the realtor who had helped him to rent out the place had stepped inside. If he had an extra set of slippers anywhere, it was buried underneath piles of useless gifts from fans that he hadn’t yet bothered to toss away.

“This isn’t my home,” Akira said, deadpan, staying put in his stocking feet. For all the barging he did into other people’s hearts, was he seriously waiting for an invitation? Akechi wanted Akira to breeze past him, planting himself on the couch, still warm from Akechi’s restless night spent on it.

He wanted Joker in his living room, rather than Akira Kurusu.

He wanted to be justified.

“To be perfectly honest,” Akechi said, slipping on his most pleasant smile, “It isn’t mine either.”

As he ushered Akira in, he was pleased to note the expression of understanding on the other boy’s face.

Akechi retook his seat on the couch once Akira began to perch on the edge of the armchair.

“Feeling better?” Akechi asked, cursing himself for not pouring more concern into it. He stood once more, turning to head for his kitchenette. The coffee wouldn’t be nearly as flavorful as Akira made -instant never was- however, it was the gesture that counted. They were teammates, after all.

“Makoto called me last night…” Akira began, standing as well to join Akechi at his counter. “Hey, need some help?”

“Oh, sure.” Was Akira purposely trying to frustrate him by drawing out his explanation of the situation? Akechi wondered, stepping aside to allow him access to the coffee maker. “It would be an honor to have a real-life barista in my kitchen.”

“I’m really not that good yet,” Akira replied, scooping some powder from the can, careful to level it off just so as if it were actually the good stuff. “I nearly killed Yusuke the other day.”

“Tried putting a little too much flair into it?” Akechi smiled cheerfully.

“Added a little too much love, I guess,” Akira said distractedly, adding the water.

_Love._

When Akechi was young, he would love nothing more than to watch hero shows.

The powers were fake. The monsters were fake.

When hero’s parents told them that they loved him, it was fake.

When the hero married the girl in the finale, declaring his undying love, it was only just pretend, something made up for TV just like the other concepts present in each and every episode.

At Akira’s age, shouldn’t he already have moved on from make-believe?

“What a caring leader, though! I bet you do that for everyone on the team.”

“Yeah…” Akira snapped shut the maker’s lid, turning to face Akechi. “I guess that I do.”

Akechi knew that he should change the topic of conversation back to the phone call with Makoto, yet he couldn’t help one last remark.

“Just now, as well?”

Like the acidity in coffee, Akira somehow continued to corrode the self-control that Akechi prided himself on.

Akira might have been looking him dead in the eye, although the fluorescent glare from the pot-lights obscured his expression as it gleamed off of his glasses. “You’re a part of the team too.”

“I see.” Akechi found himself reaching for a mug, although it had yet to be filled.

The turbulent sounds of percolation interrupted any silence that threatened to follow the remark.

“About the call from Makoto,” Akira continued, as if he had never derailed, “She told me that she had been having the same symptoms- debilitating pain down her entire body?” Akechi nodded, confirming that it had been the same for him. “Except, she had plans that night with Haru, so she dragged herself out to the mansion anyway. It turns out that Haru had been suffering as well, but as soon as Makoto reached her, the pain stopped for the both of them.”

“So it was the palace, then…” Akechi agreed pensively, pouring coffee into the mug.

“It looks like Haru can’t go more than a few feet from Makoto-“

“And the same holds true for us, then,” Akechi finished for him quickly, as if having grown impatient of talk of the weather, before nodding toward the mug on the counter. “Cream or sugar? You know by now how I take my coffee, but it occurred to me that I don’t know how to make your’s.”

Akira shrugged. “Same as you, I guess.”

Akechi raised a brow. Somehow Akira having no preference in the way he took his coffee was far harder to buy than the fact that they had been married against their will in an alternate reality. “You guess?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Akira pushed the mug across the counter nearer to where Akechi stood. “It sounds cheesy, but you can tell a lot about someone by how they drink their coffee…or the Boss says so, at least.”

“Okay, then.” He slid the mug back, sloshing a bit out onto the tile, black running down into white grout. “Drink up.”

“You don’t take it black at home, while no one’s there to watch you.” Akira took a sip, before moving not to the armchair, but the couch.

“Oh?” It must have been still scalding hot. What was he trying to prove? “Aren’t we the detective now?”

Akechi poured himself a cup of his own, taking a gulp and sighing through his nose as the burning liquid prickled over his soft tissue. Having choice in the pain restored some semblance of the control he had lacked over it throughout the previous night.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have any snacks I could put out,” Akechi lamented. “I don’t like to keep too many sweets around the house. You know how it is, being on camera all the time…”

“It’s not a problem,” Akira replied, as if this were truly just a casual play-date.

“We should start out by seeing just how far apart we can safely get, I suppose.” Akechi suddenly wanted an excuse to move around suddenly, restless, as if the caffeine had gone to work prematurely.

“Makoto made it sound like it isn’t far.” Akira stood, abandoning his mug on the coffee table. He had even used a coaster. “You’re right, though. We should try.”

Although he reached the door before Akechi, Akira was stopped from exiting.

“I’ll go.” Akechi brushed by him. “I could use the air.”

With Akira’s face no longer in his sight once out into the hall, Akechi could almost pretend that an actual guest awaited him back in his apartment, a friend, and this was merely a trip to the corner store for snacks and drinks.

Akechi slumped to the floor, one hand clutching his chest as the other raked down the wall. The pain was even more intense than yesterday, and he had made it only twenty or so feet from the door. A cough wracked through him, staining his white sleeve with red splatters where he attempted to stifle it.

He could hear footsteps coming up behind him, halted and shuffling, followed by the sound of labored breath, before an arm settled underneath his shoulder, urging Akechi into standing.

At once, a wave a relief washed over him, sending his head into a spin, like an overly-abrupt start to a carnival ride.

Allowing himself to lean into Akira’s support until reaching the door, the two safely returned to the apartment.

Akechi frowned at his ruined sleeve, before looking to Akira. He was in much the same state, ivory t-shirt flecked with the same blood that glossed his bottom lip, causing the illusion of it being even more fully shaped than usual.

Seeing as there was little hope for Akechi’s own shirt, he reached across to Akira, dabbing at his mouth with the cuff where their blood met in overlapping blots. It wouldn’t do for Akira to wipe it on his hand, before getting it all over the furniture, would it? Akechi told himself as Akira screwed up his face at the touch, like a cat having stray food wiped off its face.

“I’m going to go run and change. I’ll bring you something too.” He began to move, before halting, turning to face Akira, eyes wide. How could he have forgotten so quickly?

After tossing his soiled shirt into the trash bin and pulling on the red hoodie that he liked to wear at home, Akechi selected a shirt for Akira, tossing it to him where he waited outside the bedroom door.

Without preamble, he slid his own shirt up over his head.

Akechi thought that he shouldn’t watch, but there were also many other things he made a habit of that most people might say he shouldn’t do.

Despite all the battles he had been through, the Phantom Thief’s skin was wholly unmarred. Akechi tried to imagine what he might look like had the injuries they sustained in the Metaverse carried over to their world- that perfect skin raised in severe, puffy lines, mottled with black and blue. A shiver danced over Akechi’s spine.

As Akechi thought, Akira took a similar size to his own, although the shirt may have been a touch tight around the shoulders, despite his being the slightly shorter of the two.

“Well?” Akira had caught his glance. “Do I look like a detective now?” he asked, as he did up the button two from the top, leaving the neck open. Even in simply dressing himself, the thief hated to be stifled, Akechi noted wryly.

He pretended to consider the question for a moment. “No. You’d need to do something with that bedhead first.” His soft, dark hair had become even more tousled after changing shirts.

"That's a relief," Akira joked, pulling out his phone before heading back into the living room, giving Akechi no choice but to follow, “I’m going to text the others and see what they think, but I say that we should wait until tomorrow before going back to the palace. We all need to rest up first.”

Just as Akechi began to sit down, he was startled by the chiming from his pocket. He had nearly forgotten that he was still apart of the group chat, half expecting them to boot him from it at some point.

“They don’t know you’re here?” he asked, looking up from the message.

Akira shook his head. “Only Haru and Makoto. Morgana is staying over with Futaba tonight.”

That would explain a lot. So he didn’t trust the others to not come storming over.

Although no verbal agreement passed between them, it was clear that Akira was staying the night. He was a quiet house-guest at the very least, browsing on his phone while Akechi typed away at his laptop, the news droning on the TV in the background.

After a microwaved dinner, there wasn’t much left to do other than turn in for bed.

“We’ll have to skip school tomorrow,” Akira said needlessly as he stopped at the bedroom door.

“If you’re trying to get me to stay up and keep you company, it’s not going to work, I’m afraid,” Akechi said, turning down the thick stack of blankets he enjoyed being cocooned in. “I’m beat.”

The sooner the day ended, the sooner he could end the palace ruler, and free himself from being shackled to the leader of the Phantom Thieves.

As he fluffed the pillow, Akechi wondered what it must be like for Haru and Makoto to be tethered so. They were dating, weren’t they? Or at least he had gathered from they way they acted all the time, in meetings at the cafe or while traversing the Metaverse. They were likely in no rush to end this, cozy in bed together under the roof of Haru’s lavish mansion, arms around tangled around one another…

“You can come in, you know. I won’t make you sleep out in the hall.” Akechi chuckled. “What do you think I am, some sort of villain? Besides, we’re married now. Aren’t we supposed to share a magical first night together?”

He knew that Akira saw through the jovial persona he had crafted for the public, but much like the blankets on the bed, it cocooned him, leaving him to reluctant to break free for uncertainty of who might emerge.

“If you’re sure,” Akira answered, seeming to size up the narrow bed as he approached. Although it was true that Akechi likely could have afforded a queen or even king bed for himself, he saw little point for someone living on his own, and the thought of being made to feel so small held little appeal. Akira continued, “I mean, I do sleep in an attic. It’s not like I need a 5-star resort.”

“I bet you’re used to sharing a bed anyway,” Akechi said, sitting haltingly on the edge. His joints still held a residual ache from the ordeal of before, stopping him for a moment from realising how crass that remark had sounded. Sure enough, Akira had raised a brow. “I mean, I’m sure you and the others have little sleepovers all the time, don’t you?”

“Not really. Yusuke stayed over on the couch once before moving into the dorms, but that was it, unless you’re talking about Morgana… He snores though, so it’s not really something to get excited about.”

Keeping the feelings that arose at the mention of Yusuke having spent the night- _with that pretty face of his and too damn loyal for this own good-_ safely packed away, Akechi instead thought about Morgana.

He had considered getting a cat once or twice, late at night while the weight of a gun still ghosted over his palm, however he didn’t particularly see himself as being around for long enough to care for an animal.

Lifting up the covers after clicking off the lamp, Akechi slid himself underneath, promptly facing the wall. He could feel the mattress shift only slightly as Akira followed, his back brushing up against Akechi’s. Despite the warmth of the touch, he felt a chill.

“Good night.”

Empty words to fill empty air, Akechi knew, however he couldn’t recall the last time he had heard them.

He had never wanted to kill Akira Kurusu more than in that moment.

Fighting back the blankets Akechi flung himself over, fingers darting to Akira’s throat. Despite the dark, the whites of his eyes shone wide without the cover of his glasses, almost innocent, as he gripped Akechi’s wrists.

Akira had a pulse.

The concept, although it should have been ridiculously obvious, startled Akechi, causing him to loosen his grip.

Until that moment, each life that he had ended had been in the Metaverse, thick gloves and a gun placing distance between himself and the one to be put down.

Akira’s neck was warm under his fingers, arteries pulsing with a life that Akechi wanted all for himself.

“...Akechi?"

Hands dropped to Akira’s collar, perhaps meaning to yank him upward, but the strength had drained out of him. It was if taking Akira’s lower lip between his own would allow Akechi to consume everything that he was- his charm, his friends, his loving home at the café, parents waiting for him back in the countryside. Far different from the kiss in the palace, Akechi pressed into Akira desperately, as if they could some how merge, two souls in one being, like himself and Robin Hood, Akira and Arsene.

Akira’s initial tension was quickly lost as he returned the reckless motions, hands on the back of Akechi’s neck, and he wondered in the back of his mind if Akira could feel his life in him as well.

They would return to the Metaverse tomorrow, teammates, and Akira -Joker- would look at him through that mask of his.

Akechi wasn’t so sure that he wanted to see a look of hatred peering through it anymore.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I nearly forgot to remove Akechi's mask during the kiss in the palace. RIP Joker.


End file.
